The Slayer (Untamed Hearts #2)(93)

He had another fight coming up next month.

A bit early to shave, but he didn’t give a shit. He was definitely doing it.

When he got out, he wrapped a towel around his waist and stood in his bedroom, staring at his prison. Then he heard the music from next door, filtering through the thin walls, like a distant memory from the past.

All he could really hear was the drums, the steady, quick beat of Latin music that was so distinct he started to count the salsa in his head.

He should have thought it was ominous, like the devil reminding him he was never going to escape who he was in Miami.

Instead he tugged on a clean pair of jeans and walked next door.

He knocked on Alaine’s door and then pushed it open, just as she came out of her bedroom, wearing a long nightgown similar to the one she’d worn the night she’d first saved him from a fate so much worse than prison or death.

“Did I wake you?” she asked with a wide-eyed look. “I was trying to stay awake. Finals are kicking my butt.”

“No.” He smiled, because they both knew he stayed up most of the night. “I just got back from running.”

She winced. “Weren’t you cold?”

“I was. Very cold,” he admitted as he stared at Alaine for a long moment. Her cheeks were flushed pink, as if she had been jumping around instead of studying. “It doesn’t look like you were studying.”

“Dancing a little.” She gave him an embarrassed smile. “I need to keep the blood to my brain flowing.”

He stepped into her apartment and closed the door behind him. “Dancing alone?”

“Don’t tell anyone.” Alaine laughed. “You think it’s silly, huh?”

“Nah.” He shook his head, still looking at her and knowing the last thing he should do was touch her the same night he had killed someone, but he couldn’t resist. “You want a partner?”

“Yeah.” Her smile became wide and pleased. “I’d love one.”

He crooked his finger and said, “Come here, mami.”

Alaine practically jumped into his arms, barefoot and wearing nothing but a nightgown. She pressed against him, the silk of her nightgown soft against his bare chest as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She danced with him for a long time, letting him forget that dirty trailer and the dead motherf*cker lying on the couch where Chuito had left him.



Nova had been right.

No one suspected Chuito when they discovered Vaughn’s body eight days later. Chuito had run past the trailer park that night, seeing the yellow tape and police cars. He had slowed to a walk, knowing it would look stranger to keep going. The shotgun-toting drug dealer even stopped Chuito to tell him what happened, and it never occurred to him any more than it occurred to Wyatt’s deputies that Chuito’s running-route change was unusual timing.

Luckily, Wyatt hadn’t been there.

Some bullshit about a conflict of interest because of the ongoing investigation over the shooting. The investigation died completely after Vaughn ended up dead of an overdose.

Just like Nova said it would, because a motherf*cker with generations of organized-crime bosses making up his genetics and a photographic memory knew how to solve a problem.

They didn’t suspect Chuito six months later when he faked a trip to Miami and drove all the way to California instead, lying low the entire time because he didn’t need his picture showing up on some sort of social-media site.

Being famous was a definite downside for a gangster.

But no one noticed him, not even when he got extra ink added to his arm after he killed Tabitha’s brother, who went just as easily as Vaughn had, willingly riding the smack gravy train to hell rather than deal with Chuito’s wrath.

Chuito found the right kind of tattoo parlor that knew not to ask questions or look a gangster in the eye while he was putting blood drops on his arm.

Then when Chuito got home, he danced with Alaine again.

’Cause he needed it.

Desperately.

Even if he knew it was the worst sin, letting her heal him, because one of these days the stain was going to stick to her.

Chuito just hoped he worked up the willpower to get out of her life before it happened.





Chapter Thirty-Four


Garnet County


October 2014

Present Day

Tino had whiskey.

He had Vicodin too.

And there wasn’t milk or aspirin in sight.

Chuito almost congratulated himself for knowing that Tino had been full of shit in the sheriff’s office when he told Wyatt he was kidding.

“Motherf*cker.” Chuito looked at the bottle on the table. “You can’t take this shit. It’s a narcotic.”

“I know.” Tino grinned at Chuito as he sat across from him at the table. “That’s sorta why I like it.”

“It’s gonna show up on a drug test.”

“I don’t have another fight until next month. We’re good,” Tino said as if that explained it. “Besides, it’s got my name on the bottle. I dislocated my shoulder. I can legally take a f*cking Vicodin when my best friend jerks my arm outta the socket.”

“This prescription is four months old.”

“And there are still pills in the bottle.” Tino sounded very proud of himself. “Give me some credit.”